


Home Can Be a Person

by misreall



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Body Worship, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Ex Sex, F/M, Family, Kissing, Only One Bed, Oral Sex, Post-Divorce, Sex, Sort Of, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misreall/pseuds/misreall
Summary: After the events of Skull Island, James Conrad returns to England to see his family.  Including his ex-wife, who his mother wishes was not quite so ex.
Relationships: James Conrad/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 112
Kudos: 109





	1. Well, This is a Bit Awkward

**Author's Note:**

> For my Summer of Overused Tropes.

  
  


“Well, this is a bit awkward.”

“There is an understatement. But that was always you, Jim. Understated to the point of silence,” Judith said, tossing her coat on the bed, before sitting down on the chair next to the closet, crossing her legs under her narrow skirt, while searching through her purse. “Damn,” she said, not finding what she was looking for. She looked up at him, her large brown eyes narrowed behind her glasses, “I thought not bringing cigarettes on this holiday would be a good way to quit. If I’d know you were going to be here, that this was going to happen I would have brought a carton.”

“This is hardly my fault,” he snapped at her. She was still dressed for work, having come straight from her office. 

She toed her high heels off, and started rubbing one of her nylon covered feet, “I thought you knew? Everything that goes wrong in my life is your fault.”

He supposed that was true enough. 

And he needed to stop looking at her legs. As well as where her blouse gaped open just enough that he could see the top curve of her breast. He should tell her that he’d read the last book she’d edited and how he could see her touch throughout it. That it was infinitely better than the author’s previous work.

He wanted to tell her about what had happened in his life in the last few, insane months since joining Monarch, but then she would be certain he had lost his mind. Which was certainly possible.

Instead James crossed to the window, pushing it open, looking at the elegant garden his mother took such pride in. She was out, trimming hollyhocks for the centerpiece of the dinner table. As if sensing him glaring at her Adele Conrad looked up and waved at him, a smugly pleased smile on her face.

His French Catholic mother loved him, but had never forgiven him for two things - joining the same army that had killed her beloved husband and divorcing Judith. 

“You love her, she loves you, and you are still married under the eyes of God, so what else could matter, you bloody bastard?” She had yelled at him in her pristine and wonderful smelling kitchen, on the night before his last deployment to Vietnam. 

Mum had never quite gotten the hang of the degrees of seriousness in British profanity. 

He’d had no answer for her then. Nor had Jude. How could they explain to someone whose great love had been torn away from them something as mealy-mouthed and trite sounding as they both had to find themselves? That they had grown apart? 

That his personal misery had poisoned everything between them and that Judith was no longer having it? At least that was how he saw it now, but at the time he had blamed her for most of it, for her unwillingness to support his career, for what he considered her petty concerns over his safety and her childish unwillingness to accept their time apart graciously.

When he’d left the service he had stayed in Vietnam almost as much to avoid his mother as he had to lose himself. 

After having found himself, with the help of an island full of monsters and genuine purpose, he had decided he needed to try and find his relationship with his family again, even to the point of conceding to a full-on gathering to celebrate his return. 

That she had invited Jude wasn’t a surprise. His mother adored Jude, and the feeling was mutual, they met regularly in the city for lunch or tea, or to shop, and when her work at the publisher allowed her Jude would come to Devon for long weekends, which was what she had thought she was doing.

She had not expected to walk into a full house of Conrads, all to honor the return of the Prodigal Son who had been placed in the room she normally stayed in? 

Adele had laughed at what she called their excessively English prissiness about sharing a room, and a bed, when they had - joined together for a moment - both cornered her in the kitchen as she put the goose in the oven for a long, slow roast. “You slept together for five years, I doubt either of you has anything the other is not familiar with,  _ oui _ ?” 

Then she looked harder at her son, frowning, “Other than some muscles. Fucking damn, Jimmy, did you steal those shoulders from some gorilla in those jungles?”

He had nearly aspirated his tea.

They had both said they would sleep on the couch in the sitting room. 

“No, Polly’s son George is sleeping there.”

The broken-down sofa in the library?

“The dog sleeps there. The poor beast is so old. Changing his habits would kill him, certainly.”

The floor then.

The appalled look on his mother’s face had silenced them both.

It was only a few nights.

The bed had not seemed terrifically small to Judith all of the other times she had slept in it, but then she had been alone. 

Of course, the bed she had shared with James in their old flat had probably been a bit smaller than this one, but back then she had not been trying to avoid contact with him. In fact, she could not get close enough to him most of the time. Nor he to her. 

Then there was the fact that James’ shoulders were absolutely enormous now! His arms and, good god, his thighs were thick with muscle as well. What the hell had happened to him? She had married a pretty beanpole who had somehow turned into a beautiful-

No, she knew how it had happened.

The army and his need to prove himself to a dead man had happened. It had happened to their marriage, his self-worth, and at least five years of his life. In return he’d gotten a body that looked like it should be on a plinth in ancient Greece with worshippers kneeling in prayer before it, and apparently the ability to sleep anywhere, no matter who with. 

Even in a bed with his tossing, turning, insomniacal, ceiling staring, and, god help her, desperately horny ex-wife.

“Jude?” James’s voice was soft, as if checking to see if she was awake.

Or maybe not.

“What? Please don’t apologize again. I know this wasn’t your doing. Adele is a wonderful woman with a heart of pure Satan and a level of stubbornness that would put any bull to shame.” She hoped she sounded flip and sleepy.

God, his body put off a lot of heat. And his voice was just as posh and velvety as ever. 

“I wasn’t going to. I just … listen, I wanted to thank you for making the best of it at dinner. My family can be a bit much. I wanted to thank you for looking after mum, and … for everything, really. You deserved better. You deserved a husband who listened to your concerns. Respected them. Respected you. I’m sorry for everything. I was wrong in so many ways.”

God help her, he rolled over to face her. She sternly stayed on her back. Back when they had been married they had both slept naked every night. James’s white undershirt was tight enough that actual nudity might have been less obscene, so she stayed on her back.

Actually, that was - 

Then she heard what he had said.

“What?” She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, wishing she had brought a heavier nightgown, and looked at him, astonished. “James Conrad, leader of men, admits to feet of clay?” 

Giving her a sheepish smile, he folded his arms under his head. The sight of his biceps knocked the conversation out of her. They gleamed in the moonlight. So did his grin, though she couldn’t make out much more of his face. 

“Admits to it wholeheartedly.”

Jude fell back onto her own pillows with a soft whump. “Wonders never cease.”

Jim laughed slightly, “Darling, you cannot possibly know how true that is. Go to sleep, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

_ Easy for me to say _ , James thought to himself, rolling back over. There was no way he was going to get a wink of sleep himself. There were no barracks too uncomfortable or noisy to keep him awake. He had slept in ditches and high up in the trees when he needed to when in Vietnam. He’d even managed to catch a few winks on Skull Island.

But Jude in that rather demure but very thin nightie? The soft smell of her warm skin and citrus and honeysuckle perfume beside him? The siren fucking song of her breathing? 

His aching, needy body had him wide awake.

A better man wouldn’t be suffering, because he wouldn’t have thrown away his marriage. He’d be making love to his wife as they both tried to stay quiet.

Tomorrow night he was going to sleep on the floor. Then he might actually get some.

The next day there were family activities, mostly centered around food and James given a chance to meet his newest brother-in-law, Martin, reacquaint himself with his nieces and nephews, and take whatever slings and arrows his sisters and mother decided he had earned. 

Being a bad brother and son, he found himself spending most of his mental energy on Jude. 

Dressed for the weekend in old jeans and a peasant blouse, her long, dark hair flowing loose, as she helped his mother cook, played cards with his sisters, and took the younger kids out to the garden with the dogs, she was incomparably beautiful to him. 

When they finished dinner he and Polly’s husband Will, and their oldest George, decided to take Martin to the local pub. Then Polly said she was going too, which meant Eliza and Maura weren’t going to be left behind, even though Maura’s husband Trevor had already fallen asleep on the couch. “Jude?” he asked. “Fancy a pint?”

She looked up from where she was putting the last of the enormous pear tart Adele had made into the icebox. “If you’re paying.”

The Horned Man - with its downright disturbing sign featuring some kind of goat-eyed Pan-creature with flaming red hair - was the first place Conrad had ever had a pint, first place he’d been kissed, first place he’d thrown what had been an unsuccessful punch, and the second place he thought of when he thought of home. Right after his mother’s kitchen.

It was unchanged since he had been a boy. His face split in a smile.

Smoky, with an uneven floor, a jukebox that only played about half of the songs selected, and crowded with locals, who if they had not recognised them as the Conrads would have been less welcoming. A few who he remembered, and had known his father, insisted on buying him a drink in thanks for his service. They wanted stories.

There were no stories of the kind they wanted. Suddenly the pub went from cosy and familiar to feeling like a trap. His body went hot and prickled with sweat and dread at the looks they would give him if they knew the truth. Sick seemed ready to gag him. 

When he’d started to say he had left the army years before, Jude had stepped in front of him with a sunny smile, putting an arm through his and taking the gins that one of the men had ordered to share with him.

“Thank you, gentlemen. My husband is terribly modest. He just hates talking about all of his heroic exploits. Come on, darling,” she gently pulled and he all but fell back to the table, in both relief and pleasure at the words ‘my husband.’

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Even heroes need rescuing now and then, captain. Besides,” she said, unlacing her arm from his and taking a deep drink. “I know you hate gin.”

After that, it was a typical night at the local. Too many pints. Arguments that turned to laughs. Laughs that turned to singing. Singing that turned back into arguments but at least for that night the good kind. The kind that came from funny misunderstandings and old stories that everyone disagreed about the particulars of.

At one point James looked at Jude, who had his very drunk sister Maura’s head on her shoulder, and she pulled a face like she had the first time he’d seen her in a different pub in Cambridge, with a different drunk friend sleeping on her shoulder. That was Judith. The girl who could hold your weight, if you’d let her.

He wanted her.

In every way. 

It had gotten cold out. As they walked in a huddle down the lane, Polly and Eliza fell back to talk about a mutual friend and have a cigarette. Martin and George were helping Maura keep from ending up in the hedge, which left him far in the lead with Jude.

The thin little blouse she was wearing, because apparently she didn’t own a properly covering  _ anything  _ these days, was not enough for the drop in the temperature. He shrugged out of his jacket and put it over her shoulders. 

“Hey!” she said, a little drunk, just a little, just like him, “None of that funny stuff, Captain!”

“Nothing funny about frostbite, soldier.”

Then, forgetting herself for a minute, she snuggled into it. “Warm. You are so bloody warm, James. And you smell so good.” Then she made a little hum of content, and turned on her toes to push a little kiss onto his cheek, but landed on his mouth.

It was quick. It was wet. It was nothing. It was electric and it made him want to claim her. With a slightly drunken giggle she put her arms about his neck, almost slapping him in the process, “That was nice. I forgot how nice your lips are, Jimmy. How nice you taste. I always liked tasting you. And you always said you liked tasting me, too.” 

He gulped. Like a fucking boy. 

When she moved to kiss him again, he stopped her, looking back to see if anyone had caught them up yet. “You know what Polly is like.”

The look on Jude’s face made him feel two feet tall, and she rocked back on her heels, then stepped away from him.

“Sorry,” she said, “I er, I don’t think anyone saw. I wouldn’t want your mum to think… For anyone to tell her-”

“Jude?”

She looked up at him. Though she was tallish for a woman he still had a lot of height on her, and she blinked behind those glasses, something about the tone of his voice stopping her. The glasses drove him crazy. He had made love to her more than once just wearing them, since she said she wanted to be able to see him when he licked her pussy, and she was too blind otherwise. 

“James?”

“Tomorrow at dinner don’t drink more than a glass of wine, please.”

She frowned, “Why not?”

“Because when we are alone in bed after dinner, and I want to fuck you, I want you to know what you are saying yes to.”

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day.

James had been in deadly and terrifying situations over and over, in the army, during his time out of the service and living in Saigon, and certainly with Monarch. Enough that he hated it when people talked with dread and fear when it came to things that were simply awkward or inconvenient or difficult. 

Waking up at dawn by force of habit rather than any desire to be awake, he was freezing despite having only taken off his jacket and shoes before falling into bed, the temperature having dropped overnight and his body still being acclimated to Southeast Asia. Even more he was chilled remembering what he had said to Jude on the way home from the bar. As surreptitiously as possible he turned his head and barely opened an eye. 

He silently thanked Christ and all of the other gods he could think of she was still hard asleep, whilst offering up his heartfelt apologies to everyone he had ever looked down on for being scared shitless by something awkward, inconvenient, or difficult. All of which would happen upon facing Judith in the sober, too bright, and badly hungover light of day. 

Years of hiding and traveling silently through both jungle and farmland - and the amount of gin she had drunk the night before - meant he was easily able to get out of bed, grab his running gear, and after a quick stop to rinse off his face in the kitchen, make it out of the house to clear his head. 

The pounding of his feet on the ground aggravated his headache, but he knew that after the first kilometer or two he would feel better, or at least be on the way to it.

The roads around the house were quiet enough to put James on edge. Too much quiet was never a good sign when in the country anywhere. Then he turned down a path between two farm fields, annoying some Hereford cows who moo’d their offended displeasure in a manner so English that he felt his shoulders relax and he laughed at himself. 

And then, as he hit a steep incline in the road, remembered - 

_ ““Because when we are alone in bed after dinner, and I want to fuck you, I want you to know what you are saying yes to.”” _

-stopped abruptly, nearly ending up ass over teakettle, and had to bend over with his hands planted on his bent knees to catch his heaving breath, and cursed himself out. 

“What kind of bleeding idiot, fucking idiot, what kind of  _ all around _ idiot says something so disrespectful and vulgar to a woman? Any woman?” Even when he had been all but living in one of the massive bars that also served as a brothel in Saigon he had never talked to any woman in such a way. It was surely only shock and her own drunkenness that had kept Judith from ripping the skin from his back for such talk. 

To say it to a woman he still-

James shook the thought from his head.

A good man, a respectful man kept such thoughts to himself. Especially towards his _ ex-wife  _ of all women. 

“Fuck!” he shouted loud enough for it to echo. 

The cows were even more annoyed. 

Conrad punished himself the only way he could, by extending his normal 3.2 km holiday run into a full 8.

Jude woke up mostly pain-free and far earlier than she did in the city. 

She was not surprised that Jim was gone already. He had been up well before her the day before, and even during their marriage he rarely stayed in bed for any time in the morning, taking a run and picking up the papers before she was even considering waking up. Yesterday had been the same.

Yesterday.

Thinking of the darkened lane on the way back from the pub, of how that tiny touch of their lips had made her body come so alert so fast she ached. And then how much harder she had ached after what he had said.

_ ““Because when we are alone in bed after dinner, and I want to fuck you, I want you to know what you are saying yes to.”” _

Never in their time together had he said he was going to fuck her. He said the word ‘fuck’, of course. As did she. But they never used it in reference to what they did in bed. 

They slept together.

They had sex.

They made love. 

But they never fucked.

Though James had always been gratifyingly eager and ready for her, there was a level of desperate need, of something hard and undeniable that the word fuck implied that had never been part of their active, healthy, but always just ever so slightly reserved marital life. Perhaps it was how young they were when they married, or perhaps it was because they were raised a certain way, though god knew Adele was earthy enough that Jim didn’t have the excuse of her rather prissy middle-class upbringing. Perhaps it was that they were both so self-serious and committed to their courses and then their careers.

Perhaps it was because he was always preparing himself to go, to ship out, to die. And perhaps she was always prepared for that as well.

James was different now. He was here. For his family. He apologized. He spent time with his sisters, singing idiot songs at the local. He had to leave again, she knew, but there was something in how he was now that implied he was just as ready to come back.

He wanted to  _ fuck _ her. 

Like the kind of stupid girl Jude had never been she grabbed his pillow and held it tight to her, burying her face against it as she giggled. It smelled of soap, lager, and Jim. 

She wondered if she snuck the pillowcase into her luggage how much teasing Adele would give her when she noticed it was gone.

By the time James finished punishing himself he was too rancid to go into the house as he was since he could see the lights were on in the kitchen, meaning his mother was up. Thankfully, there was a bucket and a tap on the shed she used for the garden and the laundry.

Adele was up, making breakfast with the help of George who at nineteen was looking fresh as a daisy after the night before. He was popping scones into the oven for his gran and dancing to Saturday Night blasting from the wireless like he’d spent the last evening in quiet contemplation and prayer.

_ Gonna keep on dancing / To the rock and roll / On Saturday night, Saturday night... _

He sang along, his shaggy head bouncing, and surprisingly so did Adele, who pointed to the old coffeepot on the stove. “There, you will need this I am sure, after setting such a bastard of an example for my precious  _ bebe _ ,” she said, reaching up to pinch the cheek of her lanky grandson who clearly took after the Conrad side of the family. 

She waved the little silver cream pitcher, knowing Jude took it, and then set it on the edge of the window that overlooked the garden. 

“Gran, that barely counted as a night out. Just a few pints,” he said, taking her in his arms to dance with awkward high spirits to the vile yet catchy “Sugar, Sugar”.

Swaying despite herself, Jude poured a cup and went to grab the cream from where Adele had left it rather oddly. 

From the window, she could see James.

He had stripped off the t-shirt he wore for running, and had filled an old wooden bucket with water that he then poured over his head, shaking his hair as it fell so it splattered everywhere before bending over to fill it again. 

Even from that distance she could see the flex of his long arms as he effortlessly lifted the bucket that she knew from helping in the garden was very heavy when full. Though that dousing in reality only took seconds Jude felt as if time slowed and she could see the water sheeting over his strong chest, over each muscle in his torso, all tensed against the shock of the cold, the flush as his skin - golden from his time in the climate of Vietnam and wherever else he had been - turned bright red and even more defined.

Holy god, she thought. There it was, that impossible ache again, on every inch of her skin, deep between her legs, and, that same ache god help her, deep in her heart.

The radio switched over to “I Think I Love You.” 

“What year is it?” she asked, laughing, dragging her eyes away from Jim who had found an old shirt in the shed that he was quickly buttoning as he walked towards the kitchen, looking ready for breakfast.

“Enough, I have potatoes to get ready. Dance with your aunt,” Adele said, fussing at the laughing George. 

“Alright then,” George said, spinning Adele gently and then turning on his heel to take Jude into his arm and start doing something not entirely unlike a waltz around the long, wooden kitchen table.

Jude was laughing so hard herself she didn’t hear Jim enter. She just felt the heat behind her. “May I cut in?”

His voice was like velvet.

George graciously gave her hand to Jim, bowed, and then turned his attentions to the first love of all teenagers, food. 

_ This morning I woke up with this feeling / I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself / I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it / And did not go and shout it when you walked into the room / I think I love you (I think I love you) _

Jude turned, Jim’s long arms about her, not looking up. Despite his efforts she could still smell the cleanness of his sweat and it made her want to growl and bite him. To mark deep into his skin and maybe have him do the same.

He took her hands, placing one on his shoulder and holding the other, and turned her so they could revolve about the room. 

His shoulder, the feel of it, the feel of him, of her Jim, her one and only Jim, undid her. 

She looked up just as he started to say, “Jude-”

When he had seen Jude through the window, playfully dancing with George, James had quickly formulated a few words of apology. There would be more time later to speak, for him to tell how he felt. To do things right. When they were alone. But for the moment he needed to say something quickly, to let her know he hadn’t forgotten his rude - if nonetheless down to the bone of him  _ honest  _ \- words to her before the rest of the night turned into a blur.

No wonder she refused to meet his eye.

“Jude-”

She looked up at him. 

He knew the look in her eye. He had seen it in his own when he had hastily shaved the morning before whilst she dressed and he had known that only a few flimsy walls that he was pretty sure he could kick his way through were all that separated him from her naked body.

“What?”

“Remember what I said about the wine. Please.”

Later, James felt a bit of guilt about how little of the day with his family he remembered. They had gone to Plymouth for part of the day to walk along the water, go to some of the shops, and have tea at the hotel his mother liked. Later, they had returned home and while the still hungover Maura had gone up for a lie down the rest of them had fallen about the house, some playing cards, some reading, George watching television.

James had picked up the copy of  _ Alive _ by Read that he had been trying to read for months and found himself getting no deeper into it as he watched Jude take his brothers-in-law for all of their folding money. 

Dinner was typical of Adele - French, full of butter and wine, delicious, and simple. If one considered boeuf bourguignon, followed by a lemon tart, and then a cheese tray, which his mother did. There were several bottles of wine on the table, most of them vin ordinaire other than a very fine sherry that Martin had brought to go with the cheese. 

He watched Jude eat. Satiny mouthfuls of rich stew slipping between her lips, her teeth tearing into chewy, fresh bread, having to lick the sweet butter from her lips, not drinking so she could enjoy one glass of the sherry with a bit of salty, deep Roquefort and then a bit more, eaten with her fingers. His cock throbbed as she devoured. All of the while leaning just enough forward that the too big black silk blouse she wore teased the idea of the shape of those lovely breasts and nothing more. 

Though later he barely remembered eating any of the magnificent meal himself but he enjoyed every bite she ate. The same went for the conversation he engaged in, the stories he heard, the ones he told. It all passed with incredible, crawling slowness.

Adele kept encouraging both of them to drink more, scowling when they refrained. “Bah. Modern people have no sense of pleasure.”

“I’ll have more, gran,” George said, angling a glass that she ignored. 

When he got up to carry the cast iron stew pot to the sink he leaned over next to Jude, “My mother is trying to get us drunk, I think she is hoping something will happen between us,” he whispered.

“I’d say we should put her out of her misery, but I would like to be able to look her in the eye again,” she whispered back, lifting her water glass towards him. The husky softness of her voice made him grit his teeth to keep from biting her shoulder.

Adele scowled. 

Polly suggested a game.

James scowled.

Getting upstairs was awkward as hell. If they went up at the same time it would look bad, but which of them should go first. Jude stared at Jim, willing him to make a motion to go up or give her sign that she should as she rolled dice and moved a little car about the cardboard track and tried not to be aware of how bloody horny she was.

Finally, he stood, stretching, which lifted the end of the old chambray shirt he wore and showed a fine line of skin above his jeans, his navel peeking over the top of his belt buckle. 

Who knew that a belly button could be profoundly erotic? Suddenly Jude wished even more that they were alone so she could kneel and lick it, and then undo his trousers and move farther down, letting the fine line of dark blonde hair that led south of it tickle her nose as she-

“Right, good night then, Jim,” she forced herself to say blandly. 

When she heard he had made it all of the way up the stairs, Jude turned back to the game, willing one of her former in-laws to go upstairs so she could say it was a good idea too. She had edited a book on psychic gifts, since they were very fashionable at the moment, and she tried to remember what the author had said about influencing the acts of others. 

Either the book was garbage or she had no otherworldly gifts because it was a full, endless, vaguely uncomfortable thirty minutes before Maura finally decided to go back up.

“Not a bad idea, actually,” Jude said, standing. “I have to drive back to the city tomorrow, after all.”

The room was dark, very dark, the blinds and curtains were closed, and for a second Jude was certain James had gone to sleep after all. There was a time that would have left her feeling defeated, but not tonight. She walked to the bed in the dark, determined to wake him up, when she heard him behind her.

“Are you saying yes?” he asked.

“Yes.”

An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush with his body. 

When she made a startled sound rather than covering her mouth, she felt James' big hand not on her mouth, but on her throat, squeezing barely, enough to still her, to make her body go soft against the hardness of his own. “The house is solid, but we still have to be quiet... “ he whispered against her neck. “So quiet. I know I can be, but you always were a bit … loud. Can you be quiet, my Jude? Even if I plan to make it terribly difficult for you?”

Her nod was more of a tremble.

“Good girl. I’m going to owe you a blouse.” His hands slid down her, proprietarily, efficiently, took the ends of her shirt and pulled it apart effortlessly, the silk giving one helpless shriek before giving up. 

He pushed her breasts easily out of the top of the cups of the comfortable bra that she’d brought for the weekend, covering them. “Christ, these are just as beautiful as I remember. Are they as sensitive?”

“I thought we were supposed to be qui-” her words and breath caught in her throat as he pinched both nipples. Jude back bowed, offering them to him, silently begging for more. For a little pain, for a lot of pleasure. He gave it to her, toying and teasing, giving firm twists followed by gentle strokes of his callused fingers over the very tips, while his tongue did shameless things to her ear. 

Jude’s legs barely held her. 

“This skirt, I like, however,” he growled as soft as a feather fall, reaching under the loose, country skirt with one hand, while the other went back around her throat, as if he somehow knew it would help her to stand when he slid his hand into her panties. “Soaked,” he all but gloated, rubbing a finger firmly back and forth on her slit, hardly touching her almost unbearably sensitive clit.

Reaching behind her, Jude squeezed the hard bar of his erection, “Stiff,” she gloated back, feeling her cunt pulse when he moaned and bucked against her touch. 

With that, he put that strong arm back around her waist and all of the while still rubbing her carried her one-armed to the wooden desk by the window, bending her over it, planting her hands on the leather blotter. “Stay,” he hissed under his breath. 

The sound of his belt buckle was loud in the silent room, or would have been if Jude could have heard anything over her jagged breathing, her heart pounding in her ears to the same beat as her cunt that throbbed for something to hold deep and pull deeper. 

There was a soft thud of cloth, then now rough, wild hands threw her skirt up over her back, shoved her panties aside, and she braced herself. 

When he knelt behind her and started to eat her out from behind all of the bracing in the world didn’t help. Holding her thighs up with those amazing muscles so she was on her toes and couldn’t shut her legs or move away from his mouth, James fucked her with his tongue whilst his thumb strummed her clit over and over. 

The pleasure and the strangeness and that she could hear his mouth working on her and hear her own wet nearly overwhelmed Jude. She dropped her head to the desk and panted and fought to not cry out while grinding herself against his tongue and his hand as her cunt pulsed around it. So close, little tremors of pure, mindless bliss came faster and faster. 

When was the last time she had come?

Not caring that James' face was in her bottom, or that she was probably going to drown him, Jude started to hump against all of the pressure she could find. She was so close...

Close…. Close…!

He stopped. 

Turning, Jude shouted, “What are you think-”

Standing just right, he slammed his cock straight into her, bending her back over, bending over her, one hand covering one of her’s, the other back between her legs to rub and rub even harder than he had before, whispering, “Shhhhh...” as he fucked her hard enough to rock the solid, wooden desk.

The tension in the hand covering hers, a hand wearing the wedding ring he’d taken off those years before, and the hoarse, broken pant in her ear, were the only signs he was as bad off as she was. Christ, it felt so good to have him tear her apart. 

“Come for me Jude. I used to dream about you coming. About making you come. About knowing I had a part in how beautiful you were then. Come for me, love.” His voice was so soft she almost couldn’t hear him, so tender, so unlike the rough and rougher pounding of his cock into her, his hips slapping her ass so loud that it made her even more excited.

He scooped upwards, pushing her higher on the desk until her feet were off the floor, til he was the only thing holding her in place, until she came, biting his hand to keep from screaming the house down.

Pounding straight through her orgasm, as she lay limp, James finished with a silent cry that she could feel tremble through her bones.

They all but fell backward on the floor, their backs propped against the bed. 

“Can I?” she asked.

He nodded and lifted his arm with the slowness of someone worn out so she could slip under it. 

“Can I come to the city with you tomorrow?” he asked. “I could get a hotel room and keep myself busy while you were at work Monday and then we could have dinner?”

His voice was calm and terrified.

“I was actually thinking of taking a few days off. I have the time. And you could stay with me. If you like.” Jude knew she sounded just as scared as he did.

James swallowed. “I would like that. Very much. I have … I have a lot to tell you. And more I want to hear.”

They sat like that for a few moments, until he added, “And maybe then we can use the bed.”

“Then?” She disentangled and gave him a smirk. “I had hopes for now,” Jude said, standing to push off her ruined blouse. 

“Well, then,” James didn’t bother with the buttons on his own shirt, pulling it over his head, turning to face her.

Jude gulped.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This era had some really brilliantly dumb music, please enjoy.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BKKaKT_dtM
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2r9UtIhOI8M
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9nE2spOw_o


End file.
